10 - Grayson
GRAYSON
The locker room felt like a prison cell, now. Smaller and tighter, I just wanted to get out of it.
No one said anything when we came back in.
Gear hit the floor, in waves. Sticks clattered against the wall. Pads and gloves clapped against benches, amidst screams of Velcro.
We almost had it. That was the worst part. Not blown out. Not overplayed. Just…
Almost.
I dropped onto the bench feeling like I weighed a million pounds, and dragged a towel over my face. The damp fabric clung to my skin. My pulse was still up, burning off the last of the unused adrenaline. It begged me to use it; to slam a locker, to punch or throw something — anything, really.
I promptly told it to fuck right off.
Across the room, Ares slammed his stick into the rack harder than he needed to. No one called him on it. No one needed to.
That’s because we all felt it.
The door swung open, and Mercer stomped inside. He didn’t ease into it. He didn’t give us even a second to settle.
“What the hell was that?” the coach snapped, his bushy eyebrows all but connected. His voice cut through the room like a blade.
Nobody answered.
Wise move.
“You’ve got the talent to win that game by three or four points!” he went on. “Maybe five! And yet somehow, you still find a way to lose it, because you refuse to play like a team.”
I lifted the towel a little. If I didn’t, he was going to yank it off me anyway.
“You don’t trust each other!” he yelled. “You don’t listen!”
Ares was looking away. Dorian was staring at the floor. The rest of the team shifted just enough to show they were listening.
“And you sure as hell don’t know how to execute, when it matters most.”
That part hit hard. We’d always been good at staying in the game, even when we were the heavy underdog. But finishing up… that was our Achilles heel. Staying in it until the end, keeping cool under pressure; those were the last few pieces of our fucked up puzzle.
And those pieces seemed to be lost, entirely.
“She told you exactly what they were going to do,” Mercer growled. “Before they even did it.”
I knew she was there without looking. She’d be standing just behind him, hair pulled tight. Leaning against the wall, holding that goddamn computer — or whatever the fuck it was — against her chest.
“She told you,” Mercer repeated, pointedly. “And you still ignored it.”
The ensuing silence was thick. Even the smallest noises disappeared, as everyone shrank back, trying to make themselves invisible.
Everyone but me.
I picked up the towel and turned to face him. I didn’t know what I was going to say, but I had to say something.
“Coach…”
“Lucky call.”
The voice came from somewhere behind me. Another one picked up, right after.
“Yeah. Beginner’s luck.”
The words were easy and convenient. I let them sit there for a second, to settle in.
They never took hold, though. And that’s because I’d seen it with my own eyes.
Patterns.
She knew them. She hadn’t been on the ice, but she somehow knew.
Ares, overcommitting. Caleb, hesitating. The weak side, opening up. Exactly when and where she said it would.
Patterns lead to results.
None of this was blind or beginner’s luck. Not entirely, anyway. The truth was stubborn however, and it pissed me the fuck off. Especially considering who she was, and what she’d done.
She’d seen it. She’d called it. And we’d ignored it.
No matter how many towels I draped over my head, I couldn’t escape the annoying fact that she’d been right.
But it was one game. And one game didn’t change anything.
I turned my head, found her, and caught her gaze. Haven stared back at me for a moment with those sharp blue eyes. I thought I saw defiance there, even challenge. If that’s what she was looking for, I could certainly accommodate her.
Eventually though, she looked away.
The coach finished chewing us out, and we finished taking it. By the time we broke off to hit the showers, she and her precious tablet were gone.
I hung back to zip up the rest of my gear, as the guys peeled off. A rush of water filled the room. Steam rolled in, bringing with it the echo of low voices, even laughter.
Haven appeared again in my mind’s eye, looking much too pretty and far too right. I wasn’t sure what I’d seen in those almond-shaped eyes. But there was one thing I did know:
The team was broken, the way it was.
And one way or another, I was getting this fixed.